I Prefer Tonks
by jewlzbird
Summary: I am Nymphadora Tonks, 22 years old, former resident of Hufflepuff house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry, dead clumsy, babbler, and sporter of bright pink hair. Most of the time, anyways.
1. Past Day

I hate popular people

I hate popular people.

Not because they're popular and I'm not – that, I'm perfectly fine with. But the way they chose to take advantage of their popularity makes them so terribly unappealing.

My name is Nymphadora Tonks, 22 years old, former resident of Hufflepuff house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry, dead clumsy, babbler, sporting bright pink hair.

I was quite friendless at school, and even though I was almost considered the class clown, I was still a very shy person. This led to a lot more observing rather than contributing. I watched people. I watched the teachers, I watched the caretaker's cat, I watched the students. I picked up on all of their habits and behaviors. Most of all, I learned to loath the popular group.

As I said, it's not because I was a total loser whose hair color tended to change every other day depending on my mood, but more because of how the popularity changed perfectly normal people into perfect skanks.

Say you were an average teenage girl. Well, many of us are, so you'll probably understand what I'm about to say. You're a normal girl, you've got a couple of close friends, you worship the cute boys from afar (but never let them know this, of course) and you spend your days at Hogsmeade at The Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes. Now, picture this; all of a sudden, people like you and want to hang out with you. And these people are the popular crowd, the cool crown, the group of beautiful people. Obviously, you look at yourself in a full-length mirror and look at your out of style clothes and your plain, make-up free face and change it all to ensure that you can be just like them. To fit in. And then you become just like them – shallow, beautiful, loaded with foundation and nice clothes, slutty (for some of them…or maybe for most of them…) - and that's that. You'll go through boys like water and shop at clothing stores all the time and watch your waistline.

I may seem very criticizing, but it's the truth. At least that's how it worked at Hogwarts. Lord, how glad am I that I'm out of there. Don't get me wrong – I did like school – but the peer pressure was extremely persistent.

But, hey, I'm out of there, and now I'm better than they are. I save lives. Being an Auror is a very dangerous job, and I know that none of those petty girls would want to be one in fear that they'll break a nail. Sheesh. I don't like breaking nails much myself, but I won't freak out over it or give up my dream job. Besides, I could just grow it back. That's because I'm a metamorphmagus. For those who don't know what that is, it means I can change my appearance at will. Hair color, eye color, nose shape, height, weight, you name it. Another reason why being an Auror is a perfect job for me – in an ambush, I could just blend into my surroundings if I wanted to. Or look like someone else.

The fact that I'm a metamorphagus was one of the reasons why I was a social outcast at school. Instead of ogling at my abilities like some people have (mostly grandmothers), they run away from me like it's a contagious disease. Personally, I think it's a pretty cool gift. Weirdos.

Then there's the Order of the Phoenix. The Order is a secret organization founded by Albus Dumbledore (coolest old man EVER) during the first wizarding war. Basically, it's an organization against Voldemort. Oh, go ahead, cringe your face off. You know, being afraid of his name (which isn't all that scary, if you think about it. Voldemort. What's so scary about that? Sounds kinda funny, actually) only adds to his power. I've met loads of cool people during my work with the Order, and it's really great to know that I'm contributing to the downfall of Voldemort. Brings up the good ol' confidence.

Oh, and don't call me Nymphadora; I hate that name. Who wants to be called a nymph? Even with the "dora" at the end, it's still terrible. I don't know why my parents would even THINK about that name. It's so old fashioned, like my mother's evil family. Good thing she's not like them, at least. My dad's muggleborn, so I don't have to worry about having Voldemort's supporters coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. Well, the Blacks don't come anyways. They hate us. More's the good for us! Anyways, I prefer when people call me Tonks. Sorry, let me rephrase that. CALL ME NYMPHADORA AND I WILL UNLEASH MY HORROR UPON YOU.

And now I'm talking to myself. I had better go do something to busy up my mind or I'm going to be heading for an asylum sometime soon. I get very off topic, VERY often. Everyone always gets confused around me since I go from one thing to another. Kind of annoying, really.

Well, Molly's invited me for dinner, so I had best not be late. She's been inviting me over a lot lately…Something tells me it's got to do with that girl Bill's marrying, Fleur. She looks like one of the popular kids…I'll just stay away from her, shall I?

**Author's Note:** I'm back again! Nothing's mine except the plot (although some of that is JKR's too)… Yes, the chapter is boring. Yes, nothing happens. Yes, it WILL get better. Please review :)


	2. Present Day

My cousin was blamed for murder

My cousin was blamed for murder. I'm sure you've all heard of him; Sirius Black, murderer of thirteen people with one curse and betrayer of his best friends. Not so many people know the real truth about Sirius, though, but I wish they did.

Sirius was always in high spirits. He always remained optimistic when we were all feeling down in the soles of shoes. He avoided mentioning the darkness looming ahead of us, though we all knew the thought of it saddened it. But he never showed it.

All he wanted was to be free. To be allowed to walk amidst the streets of London and not fear being recognized, to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies and view the latest broom model, to go and have a shot of firewhisky at The Leaky Cauldron. Was it so hard to grant a man such a small favor?

All the while I was thinking that when the war was over, surely the Death Eaters would get caught, and with the proof that Pettigrew was alive, Sirius could be rightly claimed innocent. Never did it occur to me that he might not live until then.

I take a swig of butterbeer and set it back on the table, pondering. Is that all there is to life? Trying to save the lives of millions of people and stand up for what's right, but at the same time risking your own life? And maybe even losing it?

Is it worth it?

Seeing Sirius take the blow of the curse to the chest, to see him get sucked into the veil, and Harry, who loved him most, screaming in agony, is it worth all this just to save people?

I wonder what Sirius was thinking in his last moments. Was this how he wanted to die? Didn't he want to live a long, happy life, have a chance to go out and breathe some fresh air? Wasn't he scared?

It only takes one death, I suppose, to make me realize what it is I'm really doing. I'm not just stopping Death Eaters and the like. I'm fighting to stop things like this from happening. Things like Sirius' death, and Pettigrew's decision for his life, and Lily and James, and all of those people whose lives have been ruined. It's to stop the pain.

But it also only takes one death to realize how dangerous this is. I've never been a very graceful or nimble person, and I don't always watch where I'm going. Clumsy me, tripping over things and blowing my (or our) cover. It happens to me on a daily business. And lord knows it wouldn't be helpful in battle. Honestly, I need lessons in not being clumsy.

Sirius was never clumsy.

I sigh and nurse the bottle in my hand. Though Sirius and I had never spent any time together before my recent joining to the order, what with he being many years older than I and his untimely exile to Azkaban, we became extremely close in the year or so that we'd had together. We were great friends, and I miss him terribly. He was the only person I could confide in without worrying about him laughing or going off to tell everyone. I think all those years trapped inside his own head taught him that.

My reflection flashes in the bottle of butterbeer. My hair has gone lank and dull and my face appears rather pale and drawn in. It seems that my mood affects my appearance a lot more nowadays, and for some reason, I can't even change it. God, I look disgusting.

There are quiet voices approaching the front door of the Burrow. I keep my hand close to my wand, hidden in my pocket, as Molly apprehensively advances towards the door. It's been a routine, for the past many weeks, for everyone to check who's at the door before opening it. Personally, I think it's rather pointless, but they insist upon it.

Anyways, it's Harry and Dumbledore, thankfully. But… I really don't want to be around people right now. When I'm in one of these thinking moods, I tend to space out and everyone thinks I'm totally depressed. Which might be true, but I'd like to avoid the conversation. So I politely (or at least remotely polite, I think) excuse myself and Apparate away to my dinky little flat.

It's pretty late, so I'm going to head off to bed. There's an order meeting early tomorrow, and god knows if I don't get enough sleep I'll start snoring smack in the middle of one of Moody's talks. Highly embarrassing, no thank you. My bed looks very comfy. I crash onto it without changing into pajamas and fall asleep. And start snoring. Lovely.

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, it's short… But it's quality, not quantity, correct? Yes. Anyways, please please please review!!


End file.
